#nikandros 001.

[agnesisolda]

starter for @xnikandrosx.

where: some vanguard church

when: maybe a little behind in the current timeline

note: via standing stones

Agnes had wondered little of her parents since she'd left Astoria for the Arches; devoted wholly to the One God, they led a miserable life of faith, something she often sneered at. She hadn't stepped foot within a Church of the Vanguard for quite some time and she hadn't known what had compelled her in this very moment to thus step inside. There was a frigid dampness inside the repurposed church, though the regalia of the Vanguard now littered the walls, she could see the once dilapidated and neglected interior for what it was. Parasites these devout were and she was of their brood once simply for being born into it; relief had flooded the then druid the moment she walked away. If dúnedain were always where they were supposed to be within the dreaded Weave, then this was a vicious mockery for her to have once faced.

Still, Agnes stood, shoulders high, hands clasped in front of her as though she could still retain some modicum of respect for what she once came from despite knowing they'd have cleaved her magic from her the moment it was discovered. A door nearest the podium creaked and Agnes turned to the source, face shifting from something stern and unreadable to true surprise at the other.

"Maybe I had hoped you pilfered that Inquisitor's regalia from a true member," uttered once she realized they were alone within the church, smiling ruefully, "This is a rather funny situation you've painted for yourself." Demon, Inquisitor to the One God, if she thought her plight as a genasi born from Vanguard parents was baffling, this surely surmounted that. "Nikandros, yes?" There was no hostility in her tone, rather it was laced with humor and curiosity. It had been rather clear why he and his dragon friend had aided in the Standing Stones when everything came to a head, but Agnes now had the opportunity to dig a little more.

[casimirnoctis]

Darkness was what he'd been crafted from, something which he'd befriended for the longevity of his life, but a pit Casimir had crawled from all the same. The Shade - that which was in darkness if only because it'd been sheltered from the direct brilliance of light, and Casimir no longer vied to have Veilcrest's shadow hailing over him. He never wished to be molded into something expected of his lineage; a warrior, a cleric, something which rattled around in the cage of violence perfectly crafted for their kind. Casimir envisioned something which could reach farther than any claim to former glory, any bastion of truculence his family hoisted above their namesake, and though he'd not find that in the Vanguard, he certainly had discovered something of curiosity within this church.

A wolf donned in cleric's clothing, something that teetered the very lines Casimir often did. It was compelling enough that he might vie to waste this one's time again when it came to the notion of the church.

"I will live enough lifetimes to be able to explore different means of living." Casimir shrugged, perhaps it was a cop out, but he'd shared enough to this cleric without having even been granted their name. "If I seek the Light," definitely a sarcastic bite there, "Who am I to ask for?"

In the dim light that the flickering torches afford, it was easy to lose traces of Casimir to the shadow. As if he existed somewhere between where the darkness ended and the light began. Curiosities were always of interest to Nikandros, but more than that he lent a favorable mind toward understanding them. Mysteries were so rare these days and people were all but complacent in their stagnancy. Even now a power rose in the west, with darkness just north of it wasn't hard to imagine what might become of the world if these powers were left unchecked.

"There's room enough beneath me." Lightly taunted, Nikandros let the humor lift for a moment as he digressed a bit further, "Scriptures, arcana, and demonology aside, there's room for you here - should you change your mind." Nikandros wouldn't press the faith any further on the stranger, though his interest was piqued so he'd see to it that their paths would inevitably cross again. "But, Casimir Decebal Noctis, you do pride yourself on being something of an enigma, don't you?" Enough had been deduced for the day, instead of cutting deeper into Casimir's possible motives, he pried deeper into the things that he could see and smell. Faint evidence of an artificer's dedicated hands, the lingering scent of an alchemist's machinations- and something else that resonated as vaguely familiar. Nikandros kept the thought in seclusion, hoarding it privately to himself.

[maraothonos]

Libraries are boring, and Mara has lived through enough history to not see the need in having to read about it from another’s perspective. Still, she finds herself wandering around inside the city’s library regardless, fingers trailing down the spine of books disinterestedly, looking for what she can’t say exactly. To become acquainted with the city, perhaps. Still, Mara is quick to disregard any mild curiosity she has in the shelves at the notice of a magical signature that’s much more interesting. Sphinxes in this city? She takes a seat across from the man easily, an elbow already propped against the table. “What’s got you so engrossed there? You look like a thirteen year old girl that’s just found her first smutty novel in the adult’s section.” ( @nikandrosxnothos​ )

[uegg]

Dantalion had condemned enough fanatics to know how to play the part. He was careful and protective when it came to his game with the Vanguard of the Light, but not for the sake of victory. He's worn this mask for over a decade without issue, he's already won. Dantalion is now interested in keeping the game active and using it to spread devastation across this continent. Nothing would delight him more.

"Oh God of Light, the One true God of our realm, deliver the souls of our fallen brethren to your hearth…" He remained bound by doctrine, so much so that the affronting holy symbol Nik attempted to shove in his face was something Dantalion had to forgive and forget. Though the suspected intention behind it he would not, because blatant maliciousness would always be something Uegg loved to see. "…and might your righteous flames continue to bear down on those heathens to remove them from the fold. Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow. In their blood the Maker's will is written." Dantalion smiles to the sky as he finishes his benedictions, only glancing at Nikandros out of the corners of his eyes. "I'm sure, for one reason or another, we'll be seeing more blood of the righteous spilled wouldn't you say? In their sacrifice, His will shall be made clear to all. How grand."

The theatrics were a little much, even for Nikandros, Pride beget that the Inquisitor pulled his hands out of the devil's grasp - not fond of the presumption that the hellspawn had any right to lay a hand upon him. Nikandros placed the amulet over his neck, but let it rest under his tunic, "I'll keep it close to my heart, for your sake then, Dantalion." He'd tortured the devil enough with it and instead tipped his head toward him and let the other lead in whatever prayer he wished to take them. "By all means, Crusader, let the Light guide your voice."

[casimirnoctis]

Acute senses narrowed in on the pitched whisper Nikandros spliced through the tense air between them. His head tilted gently to the side, a subtle cue that the other did not need to allow him the knowledge that Casimir was indeed listening. He was a creature riding under the coattails of a god people would kneel and die for; a crafted game where the playing board was swept clean in his ascent to this clerical figure which stood before Casimir. A viper adorned in sheep's white, a wolf dressed in religious silks; sanguinary eyes saw right through him, but it only warranted the exiled prince to smile.

A glimmer of appraisal which matched the clerics, a taut line that was ravaged simply by the other's glaring ego which slipped so heavily from the mask he touted.

"I don't imagine you to make room for another on a similar pursuit," another statement, eyes shifting from the cleric up to the angelic statue whose shadow hung so heavily above the dhampir, "If we're to confess our truths, I'm sure you're already aware that I'd do little good for your Faith." Was he talking about the Vanguard as a whole or simply this cleric's tangled web of faith? Though Casimir did not know the answer to such internal pique, the smile remained as the inquisitor walked forth, hands clasped in a show which taunted his lack of defense; the inquisitor's elation for games bled through as he approached Casimir much like a predator that had backed their prey into a corner.

Nikandros stood beneath the imposing statue of a winged angel and with a measured focus took a step in toward the dhampir, the gilding on the Inquisitor's regalia gleamed, glinting in the pale light of the candles as Nikandros fit the vainglorious mantle well. His bright eyes, sharp and calculating, lingered on Casimir—appraising, dissecting, seeking. Nikandro's posture was unnervingly calm, hands clasped behind his back as if he could land anywhere in this world and hold his domain.

“And yet, here you are,” Nikandros repeated, voice laced with subtly, whispering if only to make the dhampir listen. His words moved through the stillness like something hot could pierce the cold, deliberate and poised.

Nobody would ever find Nikandros charging into battle, not for some king or queen blinded by their ambitions, and certainly not for a cause beneath him. Only fools threw their lives away in such folly, and Nikandros was no fool. The ego lurking beneath his demeanor was an affront to this temple's teachings —prideful and cunning. They reached for something far beyond the trivialities of crowns and titles.

A slow, easy smile crept across Nikandros as he let the tension thicken between them. “We all wear masks, Casimir. Some just fit better than others."

[casimirnoctis]

"You've never played against me," surely a retort which was to be expected, but sometimes there was no dressing a simple truth in a mask of rhetoric and vague playfulness. This one was arrogant, a clear reality, but Casimir had to wonder if such arrogance was earned or if the power of being listened to under the false stretches of the One God had gotten to their head.

Casimir silently dismissed the Lysaran's idea of a Game; it did little to compel the dhampir and he'd been within their cities for nearly a hundred years by this point. Whatever this cleric alluding to was already far more enticing than any Thieves' contract nor any petulant game dispersed from lazy nobles and their generations before them.

"Carving something out of nothing is a far greater craft than any birthright," Casimir affirmed this notion lightly, but it mirrored his own path; how long he'd toed the line of what his mother wished for him only until the dhampir could not take the idea of being another mindless soldier any longer.

If Nikandros did not enjoy Casimir's candor already, that fondness quietly grew; if nothing else, dhampirs unanimously had a skill for observation. There was something to be said about growing up in burning houses, but Nikandros didn't comment any further. Instead, he fixed his attention toward the guess that Casimir posed and attuned his gaze to every inch of the dhampir's frame. Body language was more telling than rhetoric, the disadvantage with the undead was he never needed to blink, or breathe and could stand completely rigid if he chose.

"Only because I always win." An arrogant offering of truth, the Inquisitor shared the crumb of his own ego even though it was one Casimir would've, by now, already gauged. Nikandros was a man, just like any other, who enjoyed standing triumphant. "After all, who doesn't?" It was possible to go down the rabbit hole of games within games, "The Lysarans are each playing their own right now, but I don't think the stakes are half as high as they'd like to believe." Nobles trading fortune for favor, squirreling it away like it somehow made them immortal to secure their wealth for the next generation... It was just so... uninspired. None of them knew how to dream, they just inherited whatever belief had come before them and ran with it. Generations of inadequacy. "The Light has taken me to many places, many faces, many languages, and many ideas. Most people are fine dying in the same dirt that birthed them."

[casimirnoctis]

Acrid animosity lent itself to a playful stretch of truth from the cleric; that which could not be outright complimented could simply be assessed, a wonder as to how a dhampir could fit into the working of the Vanguard's fanatical entreats. Casimir cared little to serve at the handiwork of another deity, haphazardly strewn in the confines of his Eterna abode would be his cloak dedicated to the Church of Night; was a wound still potent if one carried the essence of it with them still? Lusacan's followers, the church they upheld and believed in, spoke of everything Casimir was meant to abandon; dawning another cloak, even under the falsehood of his own adamant curiosity, felt nearly slanderous to consider.

A laugh escaped him, grinning at the cleric as he tossed his flagrant remarks towards Casimir. He'd not belittle himself to entertain such tender jabs, and he merely set to remark on what he'd come to assess about the other. "You enjoy your games," it simplifies everything, gauges nothing, but it treads on every give and pull of ground in between both stances. He'd not surrender to the idea of participating in exactly what this cleric wished to glean from him and so Casimir left it at that, the grin still present.

"Precisely." Nikandros mused before quickly adding, "Almost naturally weak." It was a slight but somehow the inquisitor lent his tongue to bend it into some semblance of a compliment. His estimation of Casimir, just like those around him, was lowly, but better than nonexistent. At least the inquisitor thought to look at him at all.

Almost catlike in momentum, Casimir's languid features were like ink distilled from the fluidity of shadows. Nikandros observed though he said little. It had been a long time since the inquisitor held any fear of the unknown, the dark, in particular. It was often said that the closer one drew toward the light, the greater the shadows became.

"You mean to say you haven't figured it out already?" He made a gesture toward Casimir and invited the dhampir's best assumption of the inquisitor's character? Was he pious? Power Hungry? Violent? Nikandros had said very little but neither did he bat an eye at the thought of casually putting someone to the torch. Every word of benediction was recited with ease and fluency, his candor steadfast, his resolve clear. And yet, "I'm more interested in your measurement, maybe I'll fill in the gaps when you're done."

[casimirnoctis]

Laughter spilled from him, something which twisted up from a bout of surprise; it wasn't often the dhampir found genuine amusement but he nodded in reproach, "Ah, so I'm weak enough to be indentured into your designs?" His arms crossed, a show of louche and feline disinterest as his lips pursed under the cleric's statement. Sometimes his mind dared to venture and wonder as to who would pull the rug out from under his mother; Casimir would dare these Vanguard to try. "Then so be it, I shall sit with bated breath for your One God's eye to wander."

Discontentment stirred at the idea; he'd walked away from what did not serve him but could he sit idly as harm came upon them, as war dared to drift through the Deadlands to his mother's doorstep? Casimir couldn't say it was not deserved but who was without offense, who's hands were clean of blood? No one - not even this cleric that smugly idled before him.

"Dare I ask you humor me further?" A hand waved, though he hardly expected this one to delve into the inner workings of such flippant and demanding question.

"You carry the sin of your predecessors, the vampires that bartered with false Gods for the Dark One's power- but you aren't without your limitations. Compared to them your power is..." Nikandros didn't wish to insult Casimir but there was a very blinding and obvious truth that compared to a vampire, a dhampir was less than a pale shadow. "A trifle. I've seen firsthand what the magi are capable of, what a witch can do when left unchecked. No one should hold that much power- that includes the rulers of Veilcrest. Make no mistake He will turn his eye upon them in time." Nikandros stated simply, "But no, the One God doesn't require your gifts, but He'd make fair use of them if you wished to set them to task."

Casimir's smile lifted his own, "A secret third option."

[casimirnoctis]

"So, we're only to wield it under the grace of this One God?" The arguments that contradicted would often make him chuckle, but Casimir was reserved when in the sect of the One this cleric upheld. As much as the dhampir wished to laugh in the face of belief and religious tyranny, he understood when to be quiet and clutch to a sense of indifferent curiosity. "My power is born from darkness, something you'd likely call an aggrieved gift from the Dark One which must be contained," his head canted to the side, "Am I to give up all that I am to be in your clergy?" The porcelain expanse of his smile pulled through the darkness; not a threat, just an expression which simply was.

"For what I know, he lives still, yes," the smile grows on the exiled heir's expression, "Does that trouble or pacify you?"

Nikandros's tongue could only get him so far in a domain that would outright protest his presence - or try to subjugate him as the Iskarans had. "My guard, at least, wouldn't make it easy for them." The crusader who was rarely far from Nik's step wasn't as devout as the Light would hope, but he was loyal and strong.

"What do we have if we don't have resolve?" Faith worked in the same manner of character, "I have seen firsthand the scars that arcana can inflict when left unchecked, with a friend who will carry the brunt of that damage for the rest of his days." Eivor's body was a battleground of what witchkind had done to him, there were lines that were not meant to be crossed, and Nikandros would see the world pulled back before it plunged itself into the Dark One's waiting embrace. "Every whisper that leads a witch toward the pursuit of power is the voice of the Dark, bringing them closer to Him."

"This crusader you met, does he still draw breath?"

[casimirnoctis]

"They'd make quick work of even the likes of you," there was no mercy for the curious in Veilcrest; a recruit, a prodigy, a meal, even a crusader of the Light would be given purpose to achieve something different. He'd seen many believers, people carved from faith, and sneered at them using it as some strength in spite of being their fallacy. Casimir could not say the same for this one; he carried strength alongside his faith and the dhampir would not be caught blindsided by him.

Fear was not found within Casimir, but there was a certain acumen found when it came to the likes of creatures of faith. Some were brainwashed into their sects, some believed they were granted power as a result. He understood this one was sharp, a blade amongst many unsharpened edges, and the dhampir could only continue to smile as he turned his back on Casimir.

"Curiosity," Casimir shrugged despite the cleric no longer facing him, "At the borders of Astoria, I met a crusader of your cloth. I can't say he was compelling for me; dutiful and resolute, someone who wore your armor, perhaps would even bleed for it. But I can often smell a farce." The man faced Casimir once more, blue eyes the only Light found in the shadows of the chamber, a direct antithesis to the stark red of the dhampir's, "You, however, have conviction." He'd only been standing across from him for mere minutes, but there was something to be said about how he carried himself. "Why do you entrust yourself to the oaths?" His eyes swept over the other, an acute analysis as though he could preen whatever he could from a mere look upon his visual character.

Casimir's chiding remark brought a glint through the dark as Nikandros smiled, however lightly. It twisted idly at the corner of his mouth as he considered the dhampir for a few more passing moments. Names were more difficult to discern than truths, though with enough questions around the topic then Nikandros might have landed there eventually - though he knew less about vampires and their lines than he'd like, Nikandros had made himself intimately aware of their faith.

"Casimir Noctis, well that changes things. I might have guessed as much but I haven't had the privilege of seeing Veilcrest with my own eyes." Nikandros put his back toward the dhampir in favor of attending to a few scripts that had been left in disarray, seemingly gathering them to make the space less unkempt. In truth, he'd put his back to Casimir to demonstrate that despite his name, Nikandros did not fear him. Nikandros had read about the carnage of the army raised by Valerius and how, even now, the vampire resided within the halls of the Tower of Olympia.

Back pressed against the podium, Nikandros leaned against it as his blue eyes found their way through the dark once more. "No, but acceptance has nothing to do with it. You wouldn't be the first dhampir to take up the oaths." There was a consideration for his words, a brief assessment, then he furthered, "You walked away from one faith, why join another?"

[casimirnoctis]

Casimir remained neutral as the other spoke for the dhampir found it impossible for any not to become unreasonably entrenched in something if it was not for personal gain nor favor. This rose colored notion of faith bled deceit, a farce that Casimir had long ago seen through but he spoke nothing of this to the inquisitor across from him.

They made quick work to raise simple speculations, some touted truths, all which related to his condemnation to being born under the brood of Darkness, an incessant call to the Dark One which threatened to pull at him still. A cursed existence but one which he fashioned for himself as the dhampir abandoned a life where he was to become a number, some senseless statistic which was meant to spring Lusacan from the hidden chambers which imprisoned the deity still. "You know so much about me and yet you know not my name?" A disreputable grin carved into stoic features, amused at the Dark which crept under each syllable of this one; each sordid desire forged and willed into some sacrament to the Light. Maybe he'd been reared for this life of pious dedication to his One God or maybe he truly believed all sin was eradicated under the devotion to a Maker.

The grin settled into a smile, cordially non combative despite the step forward they had taken, "Casimir Noctis," the Shade tilted his head at the other, though he did not volley a request for his name, "Do you believe I'm to be your natural ally? I have trouble believing you'd accept me into your sect." There was an inherent, palpable curiosity towards the Vanguard but nothing that allowed him to entertain the idea until the very moment he'd strolled into this place of worship. His eyes had strained against the light which seeped into the stained glass and he could do little but focus on the man before him to relieve the tensity that resulted from the religious symbols around them.

"What better path could there be, than one that brings me closer to our Maker?" Fulfillment was hardly the extent of it, if these old stones would talk they would tell the story of countless prayers whispered against them. There was a solace to these temples that Nikandros languished in, that aside, it afforded him station and power - two things that were tempting to all men who craved or required them.

"You haven't taken a breath or blinked since you've been standing here." Nikandros pointed out, "Not uncommon for the undead, but even strigoi will still do either on occasion out of habit... A habit you never formed, dhampir." From there it had been easy enough, "Dhampirs are scarcely raised under the Light, and monotheistic piety is found in only three sects: two of which are wardened under the Light, the last, under the Dark." The Inquisitor's eyes remained pointed, a pair of cold, blue blades of the sharpest steel held the dhampir's unwavering stare. "Since you turned away from the Dark, you'd think your natural ally would be the One God clinging to the breath you won't take, the light filtering through the windows." The dhampir had found his way here, though it was just as likely that the man had come in search of a pious meal.

Nikandros left little care to the air between them and instead took a step forward. His gaze stayed fixed, metaphorical sword zone as the Inquisitor scrutinized the man's facets. "What's your name, dhampir?"

[casimirnoctis]

This disarming indifference was infuriating on another, where Casimir bled such trait and let it roll from him habitually, the dhampir found himself swallowing a fit of annoyance as the other took his time to peer around the room and smile all too casually. The Dark One's whispers condemned him from birth, cursed to peer unto the webs weaved and emboldened plans no matter how many miles could separate him from Veilcrest. His mother's ultimate scheme could be placed on deafened ears, for the vampire Queen remained silent on their bond, but the Dark One would always urge and whisper.

"And all this propagation..." Casimir frowned, eyes falling on this cleric who seemed so falsely pleased, "Is fulfilling?" Where the other pushed, Casimir pressed, some odd stalemate that buckled and weakened with each volleyed inquiry.

"Guilty," there was no need for carefully curated evasions when the other intuition seemed so confident towards the tangible trajectory of Casimir's life. Each dhampir could lead a similar beginning, a Child of the Night, but the exiled heir held a parallel confidence in the fact that he'd come to surprise this emissary. "What gave away my indoctrination to the Night?" A somewhat snide retort, for each and every way that the Shade held himself gave way to his vampiric origins.

Casual, blue eyes looked around the place of worship, they wandered across the stained glass and lingered on the podium before they marched along the pews. "Strange..." There was a pause between the Inquisitor's invocation as he breathed into stifled air that punctuated the filtered light. The violet, yellow, and teal shafts broke the space and traced the hard lines of the man's features. "I see no slaughter here..." There was a quiver at the corner of his lip, in a beat it relented into a casual smile as Nikandros lifted his hands to either side in a gesture of a mock bow. "You'll find no murderers here, only emissaries of the Light, and stones now well-trodden by refugees who faced the Dark One's arcana."

This building was a charitable one, a sanctuary, and a haven to any who needed it. Astoria was silent in their talks with Lysara, and in return, the web of Light continued to spread to those who needed it most.

"Etc, yes." Adage after adage, lines, limericks, prose, and epics. Over the years the Creator had taken on many names, and many shapes. Maker and Old One - the origins hardly mattered when the messaging remained the same. "You've met many?" Nikandros had already deduced the other's nature, but he let the undead comment remain behind him... "Which tells me you were either pious in life, or you were raised under a chapel's roof. Maybe in Veilcrest?" Nikandros pressed, lightly, acute perception and unending questions came with the territory. The more he asked, the more answers he received, silence yielded its own results.

[casimirnoctis]

Blazing symbols of this One God twisted an acrid note in his side, this sentient twang that Casimir brazenly feigned ignorance to. Fear wrought little to anything good, he needn't hide this innate aversion to the symbols that littered the holy ground but he'd not mutter and quiver before this Cleric; a show of weakness felt worse than any death. The shadows were something of a friend, they were his unfortunate birthright, his home and so Casimir learned to dwell and linger in them as though a second nature. Sometimes he blended so fluidly amongst them, an indelible piece of darkness that the exiled prince rose a brow of surprise as the other nonchalantly addressed him.

"We're not all keen on slaughtering," it's something of a truth despite the perpetual itch that rises in his throat, this wretched need for blood that was eternal. Louche and always radiating this air of annoyance, he strolled forward, parroting back, "And blessed are the peacekeepers? Champions of the just?" His lip curled into a disquieted smile, "You parishioners are all the same." Casimir dodged the question for now, eyes focused on the cleric before him as though it would drown out the unease from all the symbols around them.

@casimirnoctis location: Church of Light, Eterna notes: meetcute

Cold eyes remained fixed on a stained glass fixture over an altar, the symbol of the blazing sun, a stalwart fixation among the Vanguard of the Light, hung as engrained into the cold walls.

Within Astoria witches were burned or cleaved, in Iskaldrik their presence was scarce but tolerated, and in Lysara they housed the less fortunate and worked alongside the wheels of change to build a brighter future. The great juxtaposition of their Creator and maker was the diversity of His following; one name, one prayer, and one point of focus made all the derivatives a small matter of consideration. In Ankhuria the flock worshipped a King as a God simply because his magic said it was so.

How things could change, but oh, how they always seemed to stay the same.

"I heard a rumor once that your kind can't step foot on holy ground," Nikandros commented as he looked sidelong at the skulking creature that lingered by one of the stone columns. They were alone here, so the Inquisitor fixed his stare upon the other. "I believed it for a while until I came upon a strigoi slaughtering a family unfortunate enough to believe that wives's tale.

Nikandros looked back toward the stained glass of the sun, "The first of the Creator's children watched across the veil and grew jealous of the life they could not feel, could not touch. In blackest envy were the demons born." Nikandros parrotted before he added, "Erudition 2:1; what brings one of the undead to His door?"

[uegg]

"One man, but a paragon nonetheless. Our presence here is small now, but happenings like this which cast aspersion over the hearts of the godless merely serve to prepare their souls for Him. This darkness that looms ahead will allow his Light to reach the hearts of even the most resistant. You will see." Such was the way of mongrels, their hearts were so fickle. One hint of tragedy and they were ready to resign themselves to powers greater than their own. That's why Dantalion wasn't there to lend his sword, but to preach and talk and support those from the Vangaurd who also answered the call.

However, Nik's gesture had Dantalion's smile disappearing in an instant. He had to turn away, too "overcome with emotion" to look properly at the amulet. That's why the tears started flowing, a reminder that members of the faith were dying was absolutely heart-wrenching. "I'm sorry, I'm usually much more composed than this. I just ... I've never been good about loss. And there's been so much on the frontlines..." It was so painful of a reminder that many of Dantalion's faith militant had fallen that he had to put the backs of Nikandros' hands in his palms and fold them together over the amulet before looking back at the man. "Pray with me, won't you? Pray that the souls of our fallen brethren are delivered into his eternal Light. Pray so that we may thank God for saving our souls and protecting us as we struggle against those bound by wicked magic. Knowing that those touched by the Light have his forever warmth to enfold them is my only solace. I see death too often during this crusade."

"Alas, I am only one man." Nikandros sighed, "One man in service to a greater power than either of us can ever hope to comprehend." Uegg was right though, the people of Aventia were fortunate to have him, just as the refugees had been, and just as Haven would be when he went North again after this siege. It seemed the natural formation for the darkspawn to wish to collapse the West completely, though if he had to guess, that was the least of their plans. They shouldn't have been able to plan at all, and yet, here they were once again with war machines, tactics, and strategy. The Light would remain vigilant, for the people's sake and the for the greater good.

There was a moment, as if he remembered something truly unfortunately, from his pocket he fished out a relic that he'd plucked from the battlefield. The emblem was clear, the blazing eye over the rising sun, the Creator's symbol on an amulet. "One of the Vanguard did not make it from the field, much of what he was could not be recognized any longer, but this bears the markings of your temple." Nikandros extended it toward Uegg for the Godly man to take, offering it in good faith. "I thought it was only right to see it returned to you."

[uegg]

Uegg really did love the devout and faithful. Their souls were the most delicious to claim because deceiving them required more work. They were seasoned, prepared slow, and oftentimes still believing wholeheartedly in their righteousness all the way up to their deathbeds. The despair their souls gave off once awoken in the Abyss was intoxicating, more so than a sinner who knows they are destined for the dark. Seeing Nikadros and Vanguard members like him work was what reminded Dantalion why he put himself at so much risk by associating with a religious sect. In the circle that he held dominion over, fools and frauds alike filled his infernal trenches and he delighted in their despair.

All this was just the appetizer. "My work keeps me mobile, but I knew this would be an excellent opportunity for our clergy. I had to set aside His crusade to lend my support," Dantalion responds, offering a simple nod as his smile stretches tighter. A pious man, Nikandros always wore attire that made his allegiances clear. "I am sure the blessings He has gifted me with would have illuminated their way, but I have full faith in you, Inquisitor. Look at what you're able to do now with a siege looming over our destination." The expression of serene confidence that washed over the blessed soldier was proof enough. Nikadros' work was valuable, and Dantalion would ensure he always knew as much. "If you were there, the refugees were in good hands. Let us work together to bring as many of these new refugees from Aventia into the Light, yes?" Because, undoubtedly, this siege would end in calamity even if Uegg had to work to achieve such an outcome himself.

Blessed to be accompanied, Nikandros laid hand on the next quivering soul seeking guidance from the light. "Those who oppose thee shall know the wrath of the Light." Direct and clear, emboldened by Dantailion's presence, Nikandros pressed as his voice lifted higher, rising above the crowd. "Field and forest shall burn, the seas shall rise and devour them," About the space a wind picked up, it rolled off the fields of siege within the city and brought with it the pungent stench of decay. "The wind shall tear their nations from the face of the earth," Light spilled from the clouds above, beckoning the blessing of the Vanguard upon the emboldened soul on his knees in front of Nikandros. "Lightning shall rain down from the cry, they shall cry out to their false gods, and find silence."

The steady thrum faded, the wind stilled, and Nikandros tipped his head toward the wary soldier. At last, Nikandros addressed Dantalion alone. "It is good to see a familiar face so far from home," Nikandros stated as he crossed his fist over his head and dipped his head in a clear sign of respect toward Dantalion. "We could have used your voice among the refugees- those were dark times." Anyone could raise their voice or lift a sword, it took another entity entirely to do either - or both - with any great level of efficiency.

[uegg]

How he adored displays of faith that managed to rise above chaos. The siege in Aventia would worsen before it improved, so naturally Dantalion had to come to do whatever he could to prolong this conflict. Lysara would reach its boiling point once calamity after calamity chipped away at her citizen's spirits. Only then would these seemingly minor acts of benevolence would bear fruit.

It'd be the Vanguard of the Light that the most downtrodden would turn to, so it pleased Dantalion to witness an inquisitor placing the One God's light over the fighters joining the fray. True believers like him paved the way for devils like Uegg to creep in and take.

"The Maker is with us! His Light shall be our banner, and we shall bear it through the gates of that city and deliver it to our brothers and sisters awaiting their freedom within those walls," he says, reciting the sermon from the Vanguard's written word to encourage the next warrior. "His Light is for all. Even if you do not have faith in Him, His grace is abundant and His warmth will be what saves those inside. You do want to receive your blessing, don't you?"

Dantalion lightheartedly pushes the young warrior forward, happy to aid Nikandros with stuffing the heads of these fools with thoughts of the One God. There would surely be converts among the survivors, especially if they believe an inquisitor's words actually made an impact on their performance.

"At last, the Light shall shine upon all of creation if we are only strong enough to carry it," Dantalion shouts to the remaining fighters in the area, drawing his vorpal sword to raise it in the air. "United, we shall save the city from this dark incursion. No matter your race or creed, I implore you to receive a blessing and stand with us so we may save lives today!"

open starter location: Aventia, Borderreach notes: say a little prayer for you~ the Vanguard is recruiting too! This has a cap of 4.

Wherever there was darkness, Nikandros would stand. The Vanguard of the Light did not shrink at the sight of evil, they stood against it - shoulder to shoulder against the shadow.

Nikandros stood in the quiet courtyard of Aventia’s keep, away from the chaos and noise of the besieged walls. His white mantle draped over his shoulders, edged in gold, with the sunburst eye embroidered across it practically gleaming in the pale, clouded light from above. A silvered blade hung at his side, not meant for battle, but as a symbol of his devotion. Nikandros was not here to fight on the front lines—that was not his purpose. He was here to guide, to bless, and to steel the righteous against the waves of darkspawn at their gate

Before him, knelt a young warrior, her armor dented and worn from previous skirmishes, her hands trembling as she clasped them together in prayer. Her eyes, filled with fear and uncertainty, looked to Nikandros, seeking something—anything—that could offer her strength against the darkness that pressed against the gates.

Nikandros placed his hands lightly on her bowed head, his voice soft but steady, filled with the quiet authority of one who had seen many fall and many rise in the Light’s name.

"The corrupt and the wicked do not falter," he began, his words slow and deliberate, each one resonating in the stillness of the courtyard. The air became charged as light began to sift through narrow shafts from above, it wreathed the pair as Nik spoke with steadfast purpose. "But blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just."

The warrior’s breathing slowed, her grip on her sword tightening as Nikandros continued, his hands still resting gently on her head, as if to quiet the storm that bristled below the surface.

"Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow. In their blood, the Creator's will is written." Warmth passed over the courtyard, and clouds covered the light once again as the paled dark fell over her shoulders once more. "Go with the Light, child, and know that you do not stand alone." There was no arcana to charge the air, the telltale metallic taste of witchcraft was entirely absent. Nikandros left the weight of his voice upon her and let pride bloom in her chest in place of uncertainty.

He lifted his hands, a sign of release, of sending her forward into battle, not with force but with faith. The fear in her eyes had not vanished, but it had dulled, replaced by something steadier. Hope.

Nikandros stepped back, watching her rise to her feet, her resolve hardening like tempered steel. He offered no grand gesture, no final call to arms—only the weight of his words, meant to linger in her heart. He tilted his head in a modest affirmation as she did the same before departing.

The state of Aventia was unfortunate. Desperate. But Nikandros was not deterred, there were still innocents here being evacuated and warriors were arriving from across Lysara - more and more by the hour. By way of mounts, air, ship, and steam. In grand, flourishes of magic, Olympians arrived from the Tower.

"Whatever our differences, there is only one war that matters." The war between good and evil, the light and the dark. Nikandros offered his hand toward the stranger, "The Light offers you protection in this hour of need."